Flowers for a Ghost
by Wetstar
Summary: Showing a closer look on what some of the unknown tributes were like, before the Games tore them from their homes.
1. First day

I squirm on my stool as Mom tries to get my hair to look somewhat neat for my first day of training. "Sit still!"

I grip the sides of the stool and try not to huff impatiently. "I'm just gonna get sweaty anyways, what does it matter what my hair looks like?"

"We have a reputation to uphold! Besides," she grins at me in the mirror, the same grin as me, "you look cuter with your hair flat, rather than ruffled and looking like you just woke up."

I grin back at her. "That's cause I did just wake up."

Mom laughs and kisses the top of my head. "Get out of here, scamp."

I jump down from the stool and run downstairs. Dad's at the kitchen table, drinking his coffee and reading his work report. "Hey Dad!"

He looks up and smiles at me. "Hey Marty!"

I try not to pull a face. "Is that what everyone's gonna call me?"

"Probably not everyone, but definitely a few people," Dad says as he pours a glass of milk.

"Who's that for?"

He looks surprised. "You, of course! You need to eat before leaving!"

I'm too impatient to get going. "Can't I just drink the milk and have that be all?"

Mom gets the cereal out of the cupboard. "Nope! You'll need plenty of energy! They'll be working you hard today!"

I groan, but sit down at the kitchen table, accepting the glass of milk from Dad and a bowl of cereal from Mom. I gobble it down as quickly as I can, before running out the door, yelling a goodbye at Mom and Dad as I go.

I run the whole way to the Academy, excitement filling me from my toes to the tips of my flame coloured hair. I've been waiting for this day since I was four and Dad first told me about the Academy. It sounds like fun. You get to learn how to fight, which sounds so cool! Besides, if I'm good at it, I could become a Peacekeeper instead of a quarry worker. The Peacekeepers scare me sometimes, but they seem a lot happier than the quarry workers. Besides, maybe I'd be able to get a spot here in Two, and then I wouldn't even have to leave! I could make sure Mom and Dad were still alright. And whatever they decide to call my little sister when she's born.

I smile at the thought of having a little sister to look after and protect. I could show her how to do all sorts of things, and I could show her all the fight moves that I'll learn at the Academy. Mom only found out yesterday that it was definitely going to be a girl, and even though having a little brother might be cool, a little sister is easier to protect.

I reach the Academy and my pace slows down to a walk as my eyes widen. It's a huge building, made out of shining marble, probably taken from our quarries. The plaque on the front lawn says that this is the "Weslydale Academy for Young Learners." Once I'm twelve and hit reaping age, I'll go to the "Tectonic Elder Learner Academy." I'm not sure where they got the names from, but I like them.

I head inside. The lobby of the school is large, and many other kids around my age are standing around in it, looking unsure as to what they're supposed to be doing. A few adults are taking a few of them off at a time, leading them further into the school.

I guess we're supposed to stay in the lobby until we're shown where to go, but standing around for a while doesn't sound too appealing to me. Instead, I head down the nearest hallway. At the end of it is a set of double doors, which I open, hoping I'm not disturbing a class that I'll get in trouble for disturbing. The room's massive, probably even bigger than my whole house put together. I'm standing at the top of a metal staircase that leads down into it, and as I lean over the railing, I can see kids who look about eight or nine using weapons on targets and dummies with precision. This must be the fight training Dad told me about!

I run down the steps, eager to get started as soon as I can. But I'm not watching where my feet are going and I fall down the last few steps. The older kids all look over and laugh at me, and I can feel my face turning the same colour as my hair.

A boy who looks about nine walks over to me. He has light hair and dark eyes, and crouches down so that he's beside me on the ground. "Are you one of the newbies?" I nod.

His face breaks out into a grin. "Brilliant. I'm Brill, by the way. C'mon, I'm supposed to help you out with spears."

I follow him over to a space that's set up with targets and racks of spears. Brill hands me a spear that looks too big for me. "Throw it at the target. And try not to kill anyone." He smirks. "Not that you could at this point though."

I take the spear from him, and the weight of it makes me stumble, almost falling over onto my face. One of Brill's friends catches me though. "Thanks." I say to him. He just gives me a nod in return.

I walk over to the line where most of the other kids are throwing from, dragging the spear along with me. I lift it again, wobbling slightly but managing not to fall over this time. Just as I'm about to throw, an angry voice comes from behind me. "Hey! What are you doing here?!"

I spin around, the spear whacking a nearby kid in the stomach, knocking them over. Oops.

A young man stands in front of me, arms crossed in front of his chest. He's glaring at me, and I swallow hard. "Do you mean me?"

He scowls. "Who else would I mean? What are you doing here? What's your name?"

"My name's Martin. I'm training."

Brill and his friends burst out laughing, and the man turns his scowl to them. "I'll deal with you three later." He looks back at me. "Come with me."

I follow him back up the stairs and down the hall to the lobby. He passes me off to a woman who he introduces as Juno Faulkner, but he tells me to call her Ms. Faulkner. As soon as he leaves though, she tells me to call her Juno. I like calling her Juno better. It sounds less strict.

She leads me down a hallway, in the opposite direction from the one I was just down. "Well, you've had an exciting day so far, haven't you, Martin? Let's see if we can get it to calm down a bit, hm?"

I smile up at her. "Oh, I don't know. I like the excitement."

** So this story focuses on the lives of tributes from guess which Games? The 55th. Duh. I'm sorry, I love those OCs too much. Anyways, it focuses on, at this point in time, three of the main tributes- but I might add more- and their lives before the Games, and possibly afterwards, with maybe some AU stuff for the afterwards. (Cause, you know, some of them die.)**


	2. Not a mutt

I hit the ground hard, my head flying back and slamming against the bench that's behind me. I hiss quietly in pain, gritting my teeth. _Who thought that would be a good spot for a bench?! _Denver smirks down at me, and I have to grab handfuls of grass to keep from flinging myself at him and pounding him to a pulp. I focus on calming down, though it's hard when all I can hear in my mind is his sneering voice. "What's the matter freak? Having a bad day? I'm not surprised, since you're so poor. I would have thought the Capitol paid your family well, what with you being a mutt and all."

I tighten my grip on the grass. "I'm not a mutt."

Denver's foot comes swinging around and slams into my face before I have time to move. My head slams into the bench again, and I can feel a light trickle of blood coming from the corner of my mouth. "Don't lie _freak."_

Denver's eyes glitter, and I know he's aching for it. For me to throw myself at him, because he thinks he'll win. I used to be bigger than him, but I haven't grown much in the past year or so, causing me to look more like a five or six year old than a seven year old. Denver, however, hit what our parents call a "growth spurt" which made him shoot up above everyone else's heads. Especially mine. It makes me hate him even more, since he constantly makes comments about it, often tying it to his belief that I'm a mutt. I've punched him before. He seems to like it, almost seems to enjoy fighting with me. Sometimes he wins, pinning me to the ground and growling that _if I'm a mutt, why didn't the Capitol make me a less pathetic one? _If I win, if I manage to pin him, I do one of two things. At first, I would just let go of him and walk away. But he would come after me after that, and force me to fight him. So now I just punch him over and over again, until someone pulls me off him. If it's Lino or Janko, they'll throw me to the ground and pound my head in instead. If it's an adult, I'll usually get in a ton of trouble. Worst case scenario it'll be Anastasia, who will just pull me away from them, watching me with sad eyes as if I'm a lost cause. Whatever happens, I've learned one thing.

No good comes from fighting Denver.

Instead I do the one thing he can never beat me with. I respond with sarcasm, which drives him _nuts._

"Sorry, that's not part of my programming."

His eyes flash. Grabbing me by the front of my shirt, Denver pulls me to my feet and starts yelling at me. Just as he's pulling his hand back to punch me, a voice yells "Let him _go!_"

I close my eyes. Anastasia. Damn it.

Denver throws me roughly to the ground, causing my head to hit the bench yet again. I'm about ready to find out who put the bench there and yell at them for their stupidity.

Denver smiles at Anastasia, trying to be charming. I think he looks like he's about to eat her. "Hello Annie."

Anastasia gives him the death glare, the one anyone should be worried about being on the retrieving end of. "It's Anastasia to you. Now get out of here."

"Fine. See you at school." He gives her a mock bow before leaving with Lino and Janko.

Anastasia turns to me, helping me up to my feet. "Thanks Tasia..." I mumble.

She looks at me with the same sad look she always gets whenever Denver and I fight. "Why do you do that, Matty? Why don't you just ignore him?"

"I do! He just keeps coming after me!" I protest.

She shakes her head sadly. "Just stop provoking him."

"I can look after myself! I can fight him!"

Her eyes look less sad, and more annoyed now. "No, you can't! Matty, I don't know where you got that idea, but it's not true!"

"It is! I can fight! I'm good at it!"

"_Shut up! Stop saying that!" _

I take a step back. Anastasia has never sounded this upset before. "You can't fight, Matty! You're small, and quiet, and... and..." She fumbles for words, before spitting out "And if you were in the Games, you would die first!"

I just stand there blinking at her. I know I'm small, but I was big before, and I'll grow more before I'm twelve. I know I'm quiet, but that could be an advantage. And I've never thought I would die first. I probably wouldn't be able to win, but I never thought that I would be the first to die. She seems to realise that she's hurt my feelings, because she immediately starts pleading. "I'm sorry Matty, I didn't mean it! You won't go into the Games, I promise! And if you _do_, I'm sure you won't die first!"

I ignore her, instead climbing the short distance into a nearby tree where Denver threw my backpack. I'm not the best climber, but I'm good enough to reach my pack and climb back down. Once I'm on solid ground again, I look back at Anastasia. Her brown eyes are wide and pleading, silently asking me to forgive her. "Let's just get to school."

* * *

We're doing math work quietly at our desks when there's a knock at the door. Mrs. Perkins walks over to answer it. Two Capitol officials stand on the other side of it. They're an odd mixture of Capitol(her pink skin, his glittering blue hair) and normal(almost everything else). The man scans our class. "Matthew Brown?"

Every head in the classroom turns to look at me. I swallow. "That's me."

He nods. "Come with us please."

I glance over at Anastasia who's staring right back at me in shock. Quietly, I say "I'm gonna be fine," before sliding out of my seat and following the Capitol officials out of the room.

They lead me through the halls of the school until we get to a steel door, which they unlock with a key and usher me inside. The room's big, with a huge machine hooked up to a chair, like the sort of chair you see in dentist's offices in history books. In the corner of the room is a small desk.

The woman introduces herself as Constance Iuno Kermode, and that's exactly what I should call her. The man says his name's Oedipus, and that's all that I should call him. They tell me that they're going to run a few tests on me. I close my eyes for a few seconds, then open them again. "Am I a mutt? Is that why you're here?"

Constance Iuno Kermode smiles. "Of course not Matthew. Now, why don't you take a seat at the desk back there? You'll see that there's a test on it. We'd like you to take it. We'll leave you alone while you do."

And true to her words, they leave the room. I shoot a nervous glance at the machine, before sitting down at the desk and taking the test.

* * *

When I'm done the test, Constance Iuno Kermode and Oedipus come back in. Oedipus sits down at the desk and starts correcting it, while Constance Iuno Kermode helps me get set up in the chair. There's a bunch of wires that she needs to attach to me, to measure my brain waves, but first she takes out a giant silver needle. My eyes widen. "What's that for?"

She smiles. "Relax Matthew. It relaxes your body, so the wires don't hurt as much." She sticks the needle into my arm and presses down on the trigger. I feel something slide in, and through my skin, I can see a small blue light flash a few times before going out. Constance Iuno Kermode pulls out the needle, my blood staining the end of it. I'm not sure what it was, but I'm sure of one thing.

Whatever she stuck in my arm wasn't to relax my body.

I scan my brain, trying to think of things the Capitol inserts in people. Drugs, hormones, medicine, trackers. Trackers! They stuck a tracker in my arm! But why? Why would they want to follow me? I'm just a poor, seven year old kid from District Three. I'm not important!

Constance Iuno Kermode starts inserting the wires into my body. My arms, my legs, my chest. Even a few in along my collarbone and neck. They sting slightly, but it's not a blinding pain, which I can be thankful for at least. Finally, she attaches two more wires to my head. Luckily, these wires have pads on the end, and just need to be stuck to my head, rather than _into _my head.

Constance Iuno Kermode then proceeds to ask me questions. Some of them are easy.

"What's your full name?"

"Matthew Fallon Brown."

Some of them are harder.

"Who was the sixth president of Panem, following the fall of President Robertson?"

"President Ajello."

After about fifteen minutes or so, she fiddles with something on the machine, causing my brain to feel like something's squeezing it. Then she asks the same questions again. And I get them right again. She continues to do the same routine. Fiddle with the machine, ask me questions. Each time, something different would happen. One time, it sent agonizing jolts of electricity through me. Another, it made me feel like my skin was on fire. The screen on the machine is showing my brain waves, how my brain's working under all of this. Constance Iuno Kermode watches it, frowning. Finally, she fiddles with the machine, and my brain feels like normal. I relax in the chair. She sits on the end of it, watching me quietly. After a minute, Oedipus walks over and hands her my test. She flips through it, her frown deepening as she goes. Then she looks up at me.

"How old are you?"

"Seven."

A pause. Then:

"Do you know what a genius is?"

My heart rate picks up. Genius. Someone who knows more than most people. More than normal. "Yeah."

"You're a genius. And one of the best we've seen in a long while, especially for a seven year old."

I close my eyes. "What are you going to do with me then?"

"Nothing."

I open my eyes and look at her. Constance Iuno Kermode. Capitol official. She smiles at me. "We're reporting you to the Capitol, of course. They like knowing when there's a new genius, so they can keep an eye on them. But we don't ship you off to the Capitol, or force you to work in an underground lab or anything. You continue learning here. You'll be pushed up a few grades though. It should make it easier to focus in class if you don't already know everything the teacher's talking about."

I nod, and she gestures for the door. "You may leave."

I do so, and I can't help wondering how much my life will change from this point on.

* * *

Anastasia catches up with me on the walk home. "So what did they want?"

My mouth feels dry. _How do I explain this to her? _"They, um, wanted to do tests on me."

She looks startled. "Tests?! What sorts of tests?! For what?!"

"Mind tests. To... To see if I'm a genius." I watch her carefully for a reaction.

She's quiet for a minute or so, before saying, "What's a genius? And are you one?"

"Yeah... Yeah, I am. It's a person who has... Who has above normal intelligence."

Oh God, why, oh why, did I use the N-word?!

Anastasia's face clouds over, turning angry and horrified, and shocked, and scared, all at once. "So it's true then?! You're a freak! A... A mutt! You don't belong here! You belong in the Capitol!" Her hands fly out, shoving me backwards. She's screaming now. "Why don't you just go back there you stinking mutt?! I hope you get reaped! I hope you get reaped, and I hope you _die! _I hope you burn, and _die! _You filthy, stinking _mutt!_"

I'm not sure what to say. Instead, I say the worst thing I could possibly say. "I-I'm not a mutt..."

"Yes you are! You're a mutt, and a freak! Just... Just stay away from me! You stupid mutt!" And with that she runs away.

I stand there, frozen in shock. It's not the first time someone's screamed at me like that. I've even seen Mom's face fill with fear when she looks at me, terrified that I'm not human, that somehow the Capitol managed to turn her baby into a mutt when it was born. But that was the first time Anastasia's screamed at me like that.

I sink to my knees and whisper, quietly, so only I can hear it, "I'm not a mutt..."

* * *

I sit in the kitchen, staring at the spot in my arm where I think they put the tracker. The small puncture hole doesn't look any different from any of the others that are there from the wires. But if I hit over the spot, a small blue light flickers under my skin. I want it out. I want to get rid of it. But how?

And deep down, I know that that's not what I want to rip out. I want to rip out me, so that I can be normal again. But at the same time, I feel a sense of pride, knowing that I'm different from everyone else. Though, I have been my entire life. It didn't just start today.

I glance over at the drawer where we keep the knives. I glance back at my arm.

And slowly, an idea starts to from inside my brain.

**Hooray for longer chapters! Sorry, I've been looking forward to this story arch for **_**months **_**and absolutely LOVE it. Anyways, the second part might be next chapter. Or maybe I'll do a chapter for the third character, then Martin, and then come back to Matt. Probably the first one though. Anyways, please review and let me know what you thought!**


	3. Bearing the burden of a secret storm

**Here is the new chapter! You get to see Matt again, since I decided to be nice! Next chapter: we "meet"(somewhat) the third tribute! By the way, the title of this chapter is from the song "Concrete Angel". If you were wondering...**

Mom walks into the room as soon as I'm done, and immediately starts screaming. I understand why; it's not every day that you walk in on your seven year old son with a knife in his hand and blood on his arm. She starts yelling for Dad and crying. I feel a wave of guilt crash over me. I haven't broken the news to her or Dad yet, I was too preoccupied with getting the tracker out.

The tracker! I grab it off the counter and try to race past Mom, but she grabs hold of my arm before I can get past her. "Matthew! _What _do you think you're doing?!"

I twist out of her grip, apologising and saying that I'll explain when I get back. "Matthew!" But I'm already out the door.

I race towards the fence, the tracker sparking in my hand. It's overheating, and will break soon. And they'll know I did it. With a little luck, I can blow it up at the fence. Or, at the very least, I can be far enough away from home that they'll only hurt me. And maybe they won't hurt me. Maybe they'll just assume it was the work of the scared seven year old they think I am.

I reach the fence and throw the tracker at it, hoping that it hits it. It does, just at the top, where the barbed wire starts. It creates a small explosion, that I barely have time to see before I realise that I should start running. But where? The fence is on, and they'll catch me eventually if I stay in the district. I decide that it makes no sense to run, and just stay here and wait for them to catch me.

* * *

The Peacekeeper drags me up towards the stage where Oedipus is standing, his narrowed eyes watching my every move. "Matthew. I didn't think we'd have any problems with you."

I swallow hard. "I-"

He interrupts me before I can explain. "Save it." He starts walking back and forth in front of me. "We don't know if what happened to your tracker was the work of a rebel, or of a scared seven year old. But we're not taking any chances." He stops pacing and looks at the Peacekeeper holding me. "Tie him up. I think fifteen'll do it."

My eyes widen. _No, no, please don't mean what I think you mean._

But he does. The Peacekeeper pulls me towards the wooden post where they tie people if they're going to be whipped. He shoves me to my knees, and growls in my ear, "Don't even try to escape. Otherwise we'll gun you down."

I gulp again. "Wasn't planning on it..."

He pulls my arms up above my head and ties them to the post, before cutting away the back of my shirt. I close my eyes, and brace myself for the pain.

"One." There's a loud crack, and then blinding pain. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from crying out.

"Two. Three." The whip hits my back with every count. I bite down on my cheek as hard as I can, blood filling my mouth, to keep from screaming in pain.

"Four. Five." My back's covered in blood. I can see it dripping onto the ground beneath me.

"Six. Seven." I close my eyes, trying to block out the pain. I can't.

"Eight. Nine." Halfway there. My head swirls, and I feel like I'm about to black out.

"Ten. Eleven." My mind starts to slide from consciousness.

"Twelve. Thir-" Everything goes black.

* * *

When I come to, I'm lying on my stomach in a house I've never seen before. My back stings worse than ever, and feels sticky, like someone stuck something on it. I glance around the room I'm in. It's not the brick walls and wooden floors of my neighbourhood, but it's also not the fancy houses of the rich neighbourhood. It's somewhere in between.

"Good, you're awake." The deep voice comes from behind me. A man who looks around twenty-five is standing there, dressed completely in black. "What did you do to deserve the wrath of Saturnus?"

"Saturnus is the Peacekeeper?" The man nods. "Oh. I actually angered a Capitol official. Oedipus. I took out the tracker they put in me."

He raises his eyebrows. "A tracker in a child?"

I try to sit up, but he pushes me back down again. "Relax. I'm not going to hurt you. If I was, I wouldn't have healed you first."

I nod, then think of something. "How long was I out for?"

"Just a couple of hours."

I groan quietly. It's hard to believe that just this morning was the fight with Denver. The man looks concerned. "Are you alright?"

I nod. "Just tired. Who are you?"

He laughs. "Sorry, that was rude of me. Bernard Mill."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Matt Brown."

He nods. "Nice to meet you too, Matt. Where do you live?"

"Limen Area."

He doesn't look surprised. "Explains why you're so skinny. Well, as soon as you feel well enough to walk, we'll head over there."

"I feel well enough now."

He still looks unsure, but he helps me up anyways. He lends me a black shirt that's way too big for me. Bernard frowns when I put it on. "You look even paler now..." His voice is filled with worry, that doesn't make sense to me. What does he care what happens to me? I'm not important to him. I'm not important to anyone, really.

We set off towards home, Bernard keeping a close eye on me. When we get there, Bernard only has time to raise his fist, before the door swings open, revealing a panicked Mom.

"Matthew! What in Panem have you been doing?!" She grabs my arm and pulls me inside, thanking Bernard as she goes. "Thank you for looking after him, I'll take it from here." And with that, she closes the door in his face.

Dad walks in from the kitchen. "Matt! Where have you been?! You run off after chopping your arm to bits, and then we hear about a seven year old being whipped!"

My legs feel like they're about to give out under me. "I... I know. That was me."

Mom lets out a small shriek and pulls up the back of my shirt. Seeing the whip lashes across my back makes her scream again. Dad winces at the sight. "What did you do?"

I swallow hard. "I took out my tracker. They gave me a tracker because... because I'm a genius."


	4. Secrets meant to be kept

**I HAVE BEEN SO IMPATIENT TO WRITE THIS CHAPTER! It's kind of short. BUT OH WELL! Enjoy! :)**

I lean back in my chair, my eyes stinging. _It's for Eva. It's for Eva. _I keep repeating this to myself as I work. That all the eye pain from straining to see the small stitches in the dim lighting, and the crappy hours were all worth it if it kept my two year old daughter alive.

I glance over to where Amy should be working. She's not there. I frown, looking around for her. _Guess she's taking her break early... _I grin. _Guess I'll go join her._

I stand up, nodding at my supervisor. He nods back. I'm good to go.

I head down the hallway towards the break room. Not that we'll be staying there for long. I smile to myself. Amy was a bit of a handful sometimes, but the rest of the time she was amazing. I still can't believe I managed to win her over.

I hear a few suspicious thumps coming from a nearby supply closet. It's probably a couple, meaning that I shouldn't disturb them, but if they're caught, they're in trouble. They should learn quickly about the safe cupboards. I decide to tell them. So I open the door. And my mouth falls open. _Oh God..._

Amy's got her legs wrapped around the waist of a blonde guy who works in the same section as her, her lips pressed firmly against his. Neither of them appears to notice me, too wrapped up in each other. I finally get over my shock enough to clear my throat.

They pull away, and almost instantly, Amy's eyes widen and she climbs off the blonde. "K-Kiel!"

The blonde's bright blue eyes widen. "You said he was dead!"

I clench my fists at my side and growl, "Get out of here."

The blonde lets go of Amy and walks out of the closet, giving me a distrusting look as he goes. I watch him walk away. Amy reaches out her hand for me. "Kiel, please, if you don't believe him, believe me. Gillis didn't know."

I spin around to face her again and punch her. Not too hard, just so that she winces. "There. We're even now. Because that's about half the pain I'm in"

* * *

But we're not even. Not by a long shot. I learn that a few weeks later when Amy appears in the bedroom doorway, crying, and says "I'm pregnant."

I look up in shock, then feel the dread set in. I ask the question I have to ask, even though I already know the answer to it. "It's not mine, is it?"

She shakes her head, and the tears seem to come even faster and harder. I walk over and awkwardly wrap my arms around her. "Shh... It's going to be okay."

She cries into my chest. "No it's not! This is a disaster!"

"It doesn't have to be... You never know... Maybe it'll look enough like you that we can pretend it's mine..."

"Y-you'd do that? For... For me?"

I kiss the top of her head. "Of course I would. I love you."

I can feel her smile. "I love you too."

* * *

But when she gives birth, we realise how wrong we were. Not at first. At first, it looks like we might be able to pull it off. He has Amy's flaming hair, and the usual newborn baby blue eyes. But after a few days or so, when most babies' eye change colours, when his were supposed to turn green, they go brighter blue. And I know in that moment, we'll have to be very convincing.

* * *

And Kiel tried as hard as he could to convince himself that it didn't matter that this wasn't his blood son, that he would raise him like a son anyways. And he tried. And he did a good job at it too. Until he was fifteen years old, the boy believed him. Kiel had a hard time though, especially since every time he saw the boy's eyes he was reminded of Gillis Patton's bright blue eyes. But even though Kiel's story is important one, it's not the one that needs to be told right now. No, right now it's the boy's story. Theodore Williams' story.


End file.
